Did Not
by NairobiWonders
Summary: This is a prequel to "Never Happened" - fluffy practically platonic joanlock.


"Give it to me!" The look in his eyes did not match the intensity in his voice. Joan appraised his stance. He was leaning forward slightly as if ready to pounce, yet the lack of tension in his frame told her he was bluffing.

"I mean it, Watson!"

She smirked at him and caught the slightest twitch to the straight line into which he had set his mouth. Perhaps she was getting a bit punchy, but she was finding this rather enjoyable.

They'd been working on a puzzle, a 2,000 piece puzzle, that she'd picked up at a used bookstore - a detailed map of the city of London. Fully prepared to stop should they get a case or even just get bored, they had started work on the puzzle around four that afternoon. Neither of them strangers to obsessive behavior, they cleared the lock room of tables and cables and laid out all the puzzle pieces on the floor, sorted by color and size. Each took a side to work on.

"East End girl versus West End boy," Joan quipped - Sherlock just stared at her.

Engrossed in amiable silence, only interrupted on occasion by Sherlock's comments about crimes he had solved on the various streets as they appeared on the map, they worked contentedly on for hours.

It was now three in the morning. Takeout containers with the remnants of shrimp masala and chicken curry sat pushed up by the wall, away from the work in progress. Sherlock's side of the puzzle was almost complete much to the frustration of Joan.

He had been searching for the one piece that would finish Hyde Park when all this started. They both saw the piece and lunged for it. She'd gotten there first. The little green piece of cardboard dangled from her fingers.

"Now, Watson." He stretched out his hand, narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to punctuate his demand.

"No." She closed her hand around the small piece. "I think this belongs on my side." She raised her eyebrows at him in challenge.

"Need I remind you that I am much bigger and stronger than you are?"

"And need I remind you that you're the one who taught me how to fight dirty?" She flipped the piece from one hand to the other. "Besides you'd never lay a hand on me."

"Oh, wouldn't I?" Sherlock suddenly charged in her direction. She turned to run but was not fast enough. He had an arm at her waist, while he tried to wrest the piece from her hand. She could feel he was holding back a little, playing at wrestling for the piece; if he wanted the piece he could have forced it out of her hand.

"Sherlock, nooo." Bent at the waist where he held her, she laughed and protested at the same time. Joan took the piece and put it down the front of her shirt. He released her, and she faced him.

"That isn't going to stop me. I have no qualms about reaching down your shirt." He smiled and made an eager face at the thought.

"You wouldn't dare?" Joan tried to call his bluff.

"Hmm." He suddenly moved toward her causing her to jump back only to have the piece fall out of her shirt and drop onto the floor between them. They both stared at it for a split second before dropping to the floor on top of it.

Sherlock grabbed it first but she pushed him, caught him off balance and he rolled onto the floor with her on top of him. Chortles and exclamations provided the soundtrack as they play wrestled for the piece. She somehow ended up with it and he tried to pry her hand open.

"Ow, ow, Sherlock, you're hurting me."

He let go of her hand immediately, "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to hurt ..."

Joan stopped his apology, "I can't believe you fell for that. It's the oldest ploy in every kids repertoire. I used to use it on Oren all the time." Kneeling before him as he sat on the floor, she closed her hand around the puzzle piece.

"Ah, a childhood ruse, one area in which my education lacks. I did not have playmates as a child." Sherlock stood up and Joan followed his lead.

"I'm sorry." Joan wondered just how alone he had been as a child. "Here, finish your side of the puzzle." She handed him the puzzle piece.

Sherlock smiled, "Thanks, the poor little lonely boy routine works equally as well as your "ow, ow, you're hurting me trick, eh?" He made a happy face at her and tried to move out of her reach, but not quickly enough.

"I can't believe you!" She slapped him on the arm several times and leaned in on him as she held on. Joan knew there was truth to what he said about his childhood. They exchanged a look of mutual appreciation before Sherlock dropped to the floor and finished his side. She congratulated him, "Good, now come help with my side."

Joan laid on her stomach, propped on her elbows, while he sat crossed-legged beside her. Together they worked to finish the east end of the puzzle. Sleep wore down Joan first, laying her head on her arms, just for a second, her eyes closed of their own accord. She was soon fast asleep.

Sherlock worked for awhile longer before noticing his puzzle-mate had dozed off. He brought over the blanket from the sofa and draped it over her, making sure her feet were covered. Joan hated her feet not being covered.

He watched her sleep. A look of contentment played across her face and he wondered if she were dreaming. Sherlock bent closer to adjust the blanket so that her neck was covered. He let his hand linger there for a moment. Having her as a partner and friend had enriched his life beyond measure. An uncontrollable impulse overtook him; he bent and placed a small kiss on the crown of her head. And then one more, lingering just a little longer; the smell of her lemon-ginger shampoo and the silkiness of her hair overwhelming his senses.

Joan surprised him by drowsily shifting her head on her arms and opening her eyes just barely enough to meet his. She lifted and turned her head slowly, picked up her chin and to his surprise met his lips with hers. The kiss was light and fleeting, a kiss borne from happiness and comfort. They stayed close for a second, noses gently touching before she collapsed back down onto her arms. Sherlock sat for a second watching her adjust her head on her arms and drift back to sleep. A vague look of both pleasure and concern played on his face. He hoped she had been sufficiently drowsy that she would not remember any of what just happened but then also some small irrational part of him hoped she would. Sherlock once more carefully adjusted her blanket and turned his attention back to finishing their puzzle.

The first few rays of weak dawn light that made their way in through the library windows and crept into the lock room woke Joan. Shifting underneath the blanket she assumed he had provided, she raised her head stiffly. How Sherlock slept on these floors so often without complaint was beyond her. As she stretched, she caught sight of the finished puzzle before her and examined with pleasure their handiwork. His green and white striped socks caught her attention next. He lay parallel to her, flat on his back, as if he had placed the last piece of the puzzle in and fallen backwards fast asleep.

Joan sat up, taking the blanket from her shoulders and moving over to place it on him. He was out - his mouth slightly open, head thrown back in deep sleep. "To the conquering hero," she murmured as she draped the blanket on him. He had made such a difference in her life she thought. She adjusted the blanket round his neck and took the opportunity. Moving carefully lest she should wake him, she bent over and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. He radiated warmth and the scent of him filled her senses - she lingered just a moment. It was rare for her to be this close to him.

She felt him move, and lifted her head a bit in guilt. His eyes, half-opened,met hers and lifting his head, his lips grazed her cheek. Joan without thinking moved closer and they shared a warm soft kiss. Sherlock closed his eyes once more as she sat back watching him; pleased and scared, hoping he wouldn't remember her encroachment.

Sherlock moved again, eyes still closed and lifted the blanket. Joan took a second to make sure she understood the invitation properly. Heart racing, she accepted. She laid down next to him, cradled at his side, head on his chest. She could hear his heart pounding as well. The blanket moved over her, covering her well, as his head adjusted so his cheek laid on the top of her head. Their breathing slowed, their heart rates lowered, they slept comfortably together.

Joan kicked at his striped feet with her slippered toes. Sherlock sat straight up confused as to where he was and what was going on. She stood over him with a steaming cup of what he could smell was coffee. He rubbed his eyes and stretched.

"You finished the puzzle. It looks great." She handed him his cup of coffee and sat down next to him.

"Yeah," he nodded and took a sip, "your part was almost done before you nodded off."

They exchanged a long look, searching each other's faces for clues as to how to proceed. Eyes have a way of talking and their visual conversation confirmed what each already knew. The memory of last night was real and warm and would be kept deep in their hearts but not acknowledged.

"How do you sleep on this floor?" Joan steered them back to safer waters. "Doesn't your back hurt after a while?"

Sherlock put his cup down and stretched. "Sometimes. It's not bad. ...Some nights are better than others." He didn't look at her as he spoke.

Joan hid a tiny content smile behind her cup.


End file.
